


tried to tell me love was free

by orphan_account



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happened, they were high. Lip isn’t saying that as an excuse, because he doesn’t think there can be one good enough. It’s just a detail. It was night time. Ian was wearing blue. They were high.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tried to tell me love was free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foundwanders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundwanders/gifts).



> Title is from EMA's "California".

The first time it happened, they were high. Lip isn’t saying that as an excuse, because he doesn’t think there can be one good enough. It’s just a detail.

It was night time.

Ian was wearing blue.

They were high.

It wasn’t even a good high really, the both of them on shitty E that was probably laced with meth, with the way Lip’s heart was beating a tattoo in his chest, the way he couldn’t ever suck in enough air. They were supposed to go out, but Fiona was out, and Debbie was sick, so they stayed in, listening to music with too much bass in it like a shitty substitute for a rave, beads of sweat rolling down their shirts, sticking their clothes to their skin, because it was July, and the E didn’t help.

Lip doesn’t know how they got on the subject, except of course he does, because they were horny, and they couldn’t even watch the same porn, so instead Lip asked about Kash, about Mickey, because he was curious, in some purely academic way, a little appalled at the thought of either of them fucking his baby brother, who sucked his thumb until he was eight and had permanently scuffed knees until, well. Until now.

And Ian told him, clearly decided Lip could handle it, or just didn’t care if he couldn’t, sketched out sordid little trysts like they were commonplace, because for him they clearly were. Lip didn’t see the appeal of Kash, of Mickey, but he could see why they went for Ian, who had a baby face but swore more creatively than even Frank, who cared too much about things and always had trouble saying no.

Lip has no idea what came over him, beyond curiosity, curiosity that had been there since he’d found Ian’s porn, maybe even before. He kissed Ian, like he could get over the curiosity that way, say “I kissed a boy and I don’t understand the big deal.”, dismiss the whole thing once he kissed Ian and didn’t feel anything at all.

Except it didn’t work like that, because just as Lip was pulling back, satisfied that he’d proven himself right, Ian was pulling him back in by his shirt, and the kiss got hot and wet and good in a way Lip wasn’t comfortable with, hit him low in the stomach, until he was sick with it.

When Ian finally pulled back his lips were red, slick, and when he asked “want me to blow you?” in a voice that was strangely even, Lip couldn’t even help it before he nodded.

*

If Lip was gay, maybe that’d make it better. Ian was, and scorns boundaries on principle, so of course Ian would be up for it, was fine with a married guy and a guy who beat the shit out of him, so what’s his brother on top of that? Not even his brother, exactly, not any more, half-brother, which Lip pretended, vainly, made it half as bad.

But Lip wasn’t gay. Lip didn’t look twice at guys, and he noticed guys who were objectively attractive, he guessed, but mostly just knew to be wary of leaving those guys alone with girlfriends. Until Ian popped out of his little closet, Lip hadn’t given a second thought to being gay, just knew it wasn’t for him and moved on with his life.

It wasn’t like Lip had a gay epiphany or anything. He still didn’t look twice at guys, still didn’t get it, really, except he couldn’t stop thinking about Ian’s lips wrapped around him, the fall of Ian’s hair against his forehead and the way his shirt stuck to the skinny notches of his spine. Lip wasn’t gay, except when it came to his brother, which was so fucked up even he couldn’t deal with it, so fucked up it might have been the worst thing a Gallagher’s ever done, and there was plenty of competition for that place.

*

After it happened, they didn’t talk about it. Ian didn’t even ask for reciprocation, just gave Lip probably the best blowjob of his life, swallowed, and went to the bathroom, presumably to jerk off, judging from the length of his absence. And then he came back, and they watched a movie in silence, went to bed. Ian fell asleep and Lip didn’t, staring at the ceiling and listening to the even ins and outs of Ian’s breathing.

It’s not like Lip wanted to talk about it, or for it to happen again, but weeks passed, and Ian didn’t mention it, not a joke or a proposition, just went about his life, visited Mickey in jail like some prison wife, hung out more at the Milkovitchs’ than at home, off doing whatever with Mandy while Lip festered with it, fucked up with guilt and shame and the overwhelming desire to do it again, just to see if it was worth it.

*

The second time it happened, they were both stone cold sober, or as sober as they could be. It was morning, still, barely, when they woke up, and Lip woke, as he always did, before Ian, but instead of getting up he watched the movement of Ian’s shoulders with his breaths, the thin bones of his shoulder blades moving whenever he exhaled.

Ian woke, went still under Lip’s gaze, and Lip, caught, didn’t know what to do, just went still as he could, a mimic, and waited. He didn’t have to wait long, because Ian wasn’t patient, had never been patient, and soon he was crawling into Lip’s bed like he was invited, which was true enough, in the end.

Ian opened his mouth, and Lip kissed him before he could say anything, any of the things Lip had been waiting for, half impatient, half full of dread. Ian sucked cock like a pro, but he kissed like the fifteen year old boy he was, and it was comforting, in a way, in the part of Lip that was still his older brother, that would always be his older brother, and wanted Ian to be unspoiled as long as possible. Never mind that the cock Ian had his hand around was his. Never mind that he was doing the opposite of helping.

Ian jerked him off with his mouth sloppy wet against Lip’s, and Lip returned the favour, Ian’s cock hard and hot beneath his hand, enough like his that it wasn’t so different from jerking off, really, other than the fact all the noises made were muffled into his mouth, except for the way Ian shook against him, minute, and bit Lip’s mouth hard enough to draw blood when he came.

*

It kept going on. It shouldn’t have, because Lip knew enough to know there are no secrets this family can keep indefinitely, there’s nothing they can hide, but Ian kept crawling into his bed in moments of silence, and Lip kept letting him, telling himself every time that they would talk about it, that they would end it. They never did talk about it. They never did end it.

It grew between them, festered, until every time Lip looked at Ian in daylight, all he could think of was what his mouth felt like, the way he bit back words before he could utter them, and he could barely recognize his brother at all, thought about him too much, all the time, and didn’t even know the person he was thinking of, couldn’t see Ian and see the kid who sucked his thumb, who tripped over his own feet, because seeing that might just kill him.

*

The last time was as ordinary as the start, and Lip didn’t know why he’d expect anything else from them. Mickey had gotten out of prison on good behaviour Lip was dubious he was capable of, and he didn’t know what he’d thought would happen then, if he thought anything would happen then, but Ian spent an hour locked in the bathroom that morning, came out looking mostly like he always did, and disappeared until that night, coming back practically glowing with the bloom of a bruise where his t-shirt started, with his mouth too red.

Lip waited for Ian to crawl into his bed like always, habit now, where Ian would tell him about whatever, little things that didn’t matter, as he edged his fingers under the waist of Lip’s boxers, almost coy about it right until it began, and there was nothing coy left in him.

But he didn’t crawl in that night, and he didn’t even come home the next day, stayed out all night and justified it with a short “Mandy” to Fiona the next morning, who either missed or ignored the red mark on Ian’s jaw, raw with beard burn. Ian fell asleep sometime in the afternoon, and Lip spent a minute watching the rise and fall of his shoulders, still too sharp beneath his shirt, and tried not to imagine what was beneath it because he was afraid of what he’d find.

It went on like that, steady nothing, until three days later Ian crawled into Lip’s bed but sat on the foot of it, knees tucked up to his chest, and talked to him like he always had, passing things by his big brother. Lip listened, or tried to, but he didn’t see his brother there, tried to but couldn’t, and when Ian crawled back out of bed to fall into his own, Lip stared at the ceiling so hard it hurt his eyes, wondered what he’d been this whole time, while he’d been dimly wary of hellfire and piss-scared of anyone ever knowing. Whether while he’d been nursing a stone in his stomach, Ian had just been passing the time.

*

Two weeks after it ended, in a fashion, Ian tripped over a crack in the sidewalk while they were walking somewhere, anywhere, it didn’t matter. Lip caught him like he’d always done, instinct, hand tight around Ian’s arm, and Ian smiled his thanks and kept on walking.


End file.
